


Gone Before

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Porn Battle 7</p><p>Prompt -- Frank/Mikey, jealous</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Before

He finds Mikey in the parking lot -- oily puddles and dark shadows, Mikey slouched in the doorway of their shit-heap of a van. Frank kicks at the gravel, sends an empty can clattering against a wall, smiles, mean and angry and fucking annoyed when Mikey looks up, squinting as he tries to see.

He's fully dressed, pants buttoned and t-shirt pulled down and straight -- yet somehow he still manages to look obscene. Mouth and chin wet, glistening in the low light of the street lamp that shines overhead. Eye make-up smudged, shadow and liner smeared, darkening the sockets like a bruise. Glasses set inside Ray's shoe, surrounded by chip packets and candy wrappers and one lone discarded condom, stretched out like a deflated balloon.

Frank takes it all in. Each detail -- the dark patches on Mikey's knees. Each painful thing that sets the scene -- the hickey on Mikey's neck, spreading, painfully dark against the pale of his skin. A claim left where none belongs.

"Frank, hi," Mikey eventually says. He watches, unmoving, as Frank comes close. Stays still and silent, knowing, and Frank wants to touch that stillness, let loose his anger and fear in one raging rush.

"Why?" Frank stands over Mikey, pushes himself between his spread legs, lines his thumbs along Mikey's jaw. "Why do you always need more?"

Mikey begins to reply, and Frank takes in the answer, presses his mouth against Mikey's and feels his words. They tickle over Frank's lips, his teeth, the roof of his mouth -- tasting of mint and spunk and the sweet sickley cocktails they're serving inside. Frank's repulsed, enticed, addicted. He tightens his grip, digs in his thumbs, licks across Mikey's mouth, his tongue, tasting those that have been there before.

He pushes back, jamming Mikey's legs against the edge of the van, his back against the first seat, and Mikey lets him, body uncoiling, relaxing under Frank's touch.

"You're a slut," Frank hisses, angry, keeps pushing until Mikey eases himself back, wedged between seats, his head next to a pile of damp clothes. Frank crawls up then, knees either side of Mikey's hips, working himself into a space that shouldn't fit, but somehow does. Hands to the side of Mikey's head -- right hand in something sticky, gooey, warm -- Frank looks down, balances himself so he can run one dirty thumb across Mikey's mouth, says, quieter now. "You're a slut."

"Yeah," Mikey says. He keeps looking up, never apologising, never needing to.

Frank loves him so much it hurts.


End file.
